


steppin' around in the desert of joy

by pettigrace



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Banter, Boredom, Collaboration, Heist, Hurt/Comfort, Locked In, M/M, Malnutrition, Sickfic, Superpowers have Side-Effects, i'll turn that tag into a proper one even if it must be done single-handedly, in a way????
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:48:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21932479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pettigrace/pseuds/pettigrace
Summary: Barry and Snart get locked into a safe together.
Relationships: Barry Allen & Leonard Snart, Barry Allen/Leonard Snart, Mick Rory & Leonard Snart
Comments: 28
Kudos: 335





	steppin' around in the desert of joy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ShinGun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShinGun/gifts).



> This is a "Thank you!!!" to ShinGun who always leaves such lovely and entertaining comments under my fics and keeps me motivated to continue. It's also a continuation to a prompt fill they requested ages ago, which was "[ColdFlash with "Blast the doors out", please?](https://joanthangroff.tumblr.com/post/187775965328/coldflash-with-blast-the-doors-out-please)".
> 
> Special thanks to my friend [Kari](https://archiveofourown.org/users/joshriku/pseuds/joshriku) who read over this for me <3
> 
> The title is from Fool's Garden's "Lemon Tree".  
> I hope y'all enjoy!

“You have  _ got _ to be kidding me.” Snart’s voice is colourless, and usually that isn’t anything unusual to Barry - seriously, the guy is incredibly at masking his emotions - but now it is  _ so _ calm that he can’t help but gulp. “Shouldn’t you be an expert on all things science?”

“Not  _ all _ things–”

He stops when Snart takes in a sharp breath. “I would  _ think _ it is common knowledge that  _ something speeding _ creates a draft,” he says, each word sounding carefully carved as it leaves his mouth. Barry can tell that he’s trying his best not to explode in anger. “And that, the  _ faster _ you go, the  _ stronger _ that draft.”

Okay, so here’s the gist: Barry is an idiot. He didn’t think while he rushed into this safe, he can admit as much. He’d just concentrated on  _ stopping _ Snart because he  _ knew _ he would get nothing but teasing from  _ everyone _ involved, including his own team. Because, apparently, it’s become some kind of running gag (quite literally, unfortunately) that he’s supposedly going soft on Snart. Which he  _ isn’t _ . There isn’t even a single reason he’d have for that when Snart hasn’t done anything but screw them over time and time again.

So, he put a mind to stopping him in time and, you guessed it, as he rushed into the safe the door fell close behind him. 

“Oh, sorry,” Barry offers, trying to sound as sarcastic as he can. “I guess I was in too much of a hurry to think this through.”

Snart clicks his tongue as he crosses his arms. “Well, then you should hurry  _ now _ to get us out of here.”

Barry snorts but turns towards the door. Not because Snart basically  _ ordered _ him to, but because it’s not like he wants to be stuck here with him  _ either _ . Even if it weren’t such a small room, Barry would never feel at ease being locked in together with freaking Captain Cold, you can trust him on that. He lifts a hand to start phasing and– nothing happens.

That’s weird.

He tries it again. Nothing.

“Oh no,” he makes out loud. Not that he planned to, but he couldn’t help it. It’s not exactly a familiar feeling but he knows how to recognize power dampeners. “I don’t have my powers.”

“What do you mean,  _ you don’t have your powers _ ?” Snart sounds even more pissed off than before.

“It’s– I don’t know, this safe must be laced with it, or something, I’ll just–” Barry lifts his hand to his comms now, turning them back on, but he’s just met with a static noise. “Damn, I got no reception here.” It must be because of the firm walls surrounding the safe, he guesses.

Snart throws his head back, glaring at the ceiling. “You can’t be serious,” he grumbles. Then he pulls his phone out of his pocket, dropping a glance down on it. “Got none either.”

Barry sighs. Okay, that sucks. It sucks completely because there’s not only no way of getting out of here or contacting anyone, but he’s also stuck with  _ Leonard Snart _ . With a Leonard Snart who is  _ pissed _ at him for locking them in in the first place. Like it’s Barry’s fault! It’s Snart who should have figured the Flash would show up to stop him, so what was he even doing inside a safe for so long anyway? An empty one, that is to add. Seriously, there’s nothing in here, at least not that he can tell.

He’s thrown out of his thoughts when Snart suddenly raises his gun. “Step aside, Scarlet, or else you’ll get some frostbite.”

“Woah! What are you doing?”

“Killing you, what else?” Snart rolls his eyes. “I’m gonna blast the door out.”

Barry raises his hands in an attempt to stop him. “Hang on. You really think that someone would go out of their way to put a power dampener on this safe but make it destructible to your  _ cold gun _ ?”

“People tend to forget the obvious,” Snart states with a small shrug. He still didn’t drop the gun.

“ _ If _ you do this and it fails,” Barry tells him, “then we’ll be stuck in a literal  _ freezer _ .  _ Do  _ you wanna huddle for warmth for who-knows-how-long?”

Snart doesn’t respond right away. For a split moment, it looks like there’s a small smirk making its way onto his face and  _ really _ , if he’s got a pun on the tip of his tongue, then Barry might forget himself and try to fight him even in his powerless state. There’s moments for jokes and this is  _ not  _ one of those. But before he has to go through with that, he finally puts down his arm again.

“ _ Thank you _ ,” Barry breathes. He watches as Snart puts away the gun, still feeling mostly frustrated at their situation, but relief floods him, too. At least there’s still logic between the two of them. 

“Great,” Snart says finally, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “So, we’re stuck in here. For however long it takes until someone bothers to check,” he spats.

“I don’t like this any more than you do,” Barry counters. It’s not like this is  _ just _ his fault. If Snart hadn’t gone back to thieving, then there wouldn’t even have been a  _ chance _ for them to end up like this. “Can’t you come up with one of your grand plans for us?”

Snart lifts his index finger leisurely. “There you have it: I’m a  _ planner _ , not a  _ thinker _ ,” he says dryly. “And I didn’t account for your stupidity, pardon me.”

Barry scoffs. “Didn’t know there was a  _ difference _ ,” he gives back dryly. Well, if Snart won’t even  _ try _ to figure something out, then it’s his part to do so. He steps closer to the door, inspecting it. There must be a way to get out of here - even if it is a  _ safe _ door, it is still nothing  _ but _ a door. He’ll be damned if he doesn’t have a solution for that.

“You already established that this door must maintain stability against  _ all _ kinds of threats,” Snart drawls, “I doubt there’s any way you can bust us out of here, Scarlet.” Almost as if he can read Barry’s thoughts.

Well, it’s fairly obvious what he’s trying to do, though. He ignores him in favour of examining the door closer, pressing his hands against it. He still isn’t able to use his speed, but maybe he can find something by touch. The steel is smooth, giving no trace of being penetrable anywhere. It’s a really nice kind, the one that a random bank shouldn’t have. A random bank shouldn’t make their safes meta-proof either, but maybe that’s what it’s come to in Central nowadays. He doesn’t know.

The truth is that Snart’s right with his assumption and Barry kind of hates it, so instead he just scoffs. 

Snart’s interpretes it correctly anyway. “So, we’ll wait until one of your friends notices your absence, then,” he summarizes, clearly not happy.

“Um,” Barry starts. He turns around and his eyes find the cold gun where it’s propped into its holster, easy to reach where it presses against Snart’s thigh. Pissing him off could get dangerous - that is, if Snart weren’t as much of a thinker as he is. No, he has agreed that firing it inside the safe wouldn’t be the smartest action. So, Barry carries on. “That could, uh, maybe take a while.”

Snart’s glare levels on him. “Isn’t your whole deal  _ speed _ ? Why would it  _ take a while _ ?”

“They aren’t on alert. Like, Cisco’s not even on this Earth, so even if the others notice, they can’t exactly vibe me or--” Barry trails off because this isn’t what is important. What matters is it could take hours until any of his team notice his absence.

“Cisco’s not on this--” Snart starts, but then he softly shakes his head to himself. Barry can’t tell if he, too, realizes that it’s not relevant right now or if it’s a whole new information for him. Snart must know about the multiverse, though, right? With how in the loop he always is… He closes his eyes briefly and draws in a slow breath before his stare settles on Barry again. “Why exactly isn’t your team on alert?” He wants to know, but it sounds more like an exhausted sigh than the question that it is.

“Well, seeing as it was just you, there was no need to summon them to the lab, was there?”

Snart quirks up an eyebrow. “ _ Just _ me?” He echoes.

Barry gulps; it’s already hard enough to hide the discomfort he feels when Snart looks at him like that. Like any second more and he’ll pull out his gun and fire more than a warning shot in his direction. Still, it’s not like he can get out of this without an answer. Or with lying at him, really, because Snart can read him like an open book for some reason. So, he gives an awkward smile and shrugs. “You breaking into a bank is hardly a grave emergency.”

That answer should be sufficient, he thinks. With the deal the two of them made, Snart has vowed not to harm (well, at least not to  _ murder _ ) any people, so it can’t be too dangerous when word goes out that he’s behind an alarm. And really, even with his cold gun he’s hardly the worst opponent that Barry’s had to face. He hasn’t been that in quite some time.

Apparently, that information hasn’t quite reached Snart yet. He has to watch as Snart’s mouth falls open and he straightens his back in offense. He’s hardly stopped gaping when he finally exclaims, “I am your archenemy!”

In return, Barry is at a loss of words. Man, he  _ wishes _ Captain Cold were his archenemy. Sure, he’s the one who most frequently shows up, but he’s the only one of those who does  _ not _ try to murder Barry or his friends and family every year anew. Dealing with Snart… it’s almost fun, usually. Lots of puns that make his roll his eyes so hard they’re about to come out of the back of his head, a nice game of chase, and a guarantee that nobody gets  _ really _ harmed. He  _ lives _ for the gigs Snart pulls, even if it’s just because they are so much less threatening than what he has usually going on. But that very thing must mean that Snart is  _ not _ his archenemy, right? You don’t exhale the moment you realize it’s your archenemy on the other side of the rope!

He doesn’t know if the doubt is visible on his face or if Snart’s played it over like him and come to the same solution, but he retracts his statement a little. “I am your best-known villain!” He insists.

Barry frowns. “You don’t even have a Jitters drink named after you,” he points out, because that’s, like,  _ the _ legacy you wanna have among Central’s general population. There’s drinks named after him and Cisco, and then for Zoom and Thawne, too. No Captain Cold, though.

Snart’s face grows dark at that. He crosses his arms in front of his chest and mumbles, “And you’d think it’s a given for all those Starbucks fakes.”

Barry can’t help but give him a tight smile. He’s got a point there: there’s more than enough iced drinks to have at least one of them named after him. And he  _ is _ a pretty famous thief in Central, has been even before the accelerator explosion. “They’ll probably come around,” he assures him. 

Snart gives a small snort, one that barely classifies as one but that he can’t find another description for. “Only so much a guy can do, Scarlet,” he gives as an answer. “I’m not allowed to up my game, really, am I?”

There might be some things he could do to earn that honour, Barry’s sure, but all he can come up with right now would go to the extreme on both sides. Snart could either do some heroic acts - and when would he ever, especially when they don’t concern him or his sister or Mick? - or he could go full-on bad guy. Which is not at all what Barry would want. Or anyone, really. But still, if he wants it so badly, then Iris could probably talk to the manager of Jitters and do something. It’s no big deal. Especially not if it keeps Snart in check; and who knows, with how dramatic the guy is, it might be the thing to tip him off. Barry has given up on understanding his logic a long time ago.

“I kid,” Snart clarifies, lifting his hands a little. Then he sinks down on the floor more gracefully than should be allowed. “Would kill my rep even more - having a drink named after me.”

Barry stays silent at that. He knows that Snart’s new methods have taken a toll on him - that he  _ has _ struggled with keeping the upper hand in the city. He’s watched it closely, because he’s rather have Snart pull the strings than any ruthless criminal, and it hasn’t been pretty. The mafia bosses have caught wind of Snart stepping back from killing, thinking he’d gotten weak, and there’s been quite a staging in their contests. It’s lucky that Snart’s thinking speaks louder than other people’s actions. But even so, it’s been hard and Barry’s rather not attract his wrath onto himself like that. 

So instead, with a sigh, he sinks down on the ground as well, holding his head in his hands. It’s been pulsing before but Snart being so pissed at him certainly doesn’t help. At all.

“You’re not going to cry, are you?” Snart says, his voice dripping with mocking. Barry doesn’t even lift his head, but he can picture the sly grin on his face. “I know you’re sensible and all – that’s your whole thing, after all, but—”

“Shut up,” Barry makes. Now his head does snap up, making his sight go white for a moment before his scowls finds its target in Snart.

In return, Snart looks pretty taken aback. Barry can imagine that he isn’t very to being talked back to, so that explains that. What doesn’t fit is the way he leans forward a bit and narrows his eyes, not with mischief or distrust but with something… resembling concern in them. “Scarlet, are you okay?” He wants to know, his voice almost soft. “You look pretty pale, even for your standards.”

Barry shakes his head, looking down. Great, he made his bad guy of the day think he’s incapable of taking care of himself. “Just a headache.”

“Don’t you have that healing factor?” Snart asks. Of course, he’s fully in the picture about Barry’s powers. He can imagine that there’s nothing catching Snart’s interest that won’t be analysed to the dot. “That should be taking care of it, shouldn’t it?”

“Power dampeners,” Barry reminds him.

“Well, damn,” Snart makes. And that’s all. Then he leans back again, staring at the ceiling.

It doesn’t look like he’s looking into nothingness, but Barry can’t make out if he’s thinking about anything in particular either. It’s almost soporific, the way he lies there, completely still safe for the way his chest rises and falls – and even that only minimally, as if he had been trained to be as invisible as possible. It wouldn’t surprise him, given the father that Lewis Snart was. It’s pretty contradictory, then, that Snart would choose to be such a high-profiling bad guy then, making his debut on TV and arranging all his major stunts in the way that he does, but Barry imagines that it’s supposed to be a way of acting up. How old is Snart by now? It’s screwed up that his father’s conditioning still takes such a hold of him.

Again, Barry sighs, and this time he leans back his head against the safe’s wall. He closes his eyes to shield them from the light – which is still turned on, remarkably. Why would they install such a lighting in a closed safe?

His headache doesn’t get any better. Even as minutes – it must be minutes, he hopes, not just mere seconds, even if those would feel like ages, too – pass by. It’s a dull ache, one that hammers against his forehead and hurts in his eyes. He finds that he isn’t even thinking about what Snart might be doing with his time until he speaks up.

“The police really isn’t what it used to be, huh?” He says after a while, a small bit of real curiosity in his voice. At least as far as Barry can tell – or as he thinks. He’d be lying if he claimed he can read Snart at all. “Did they get lazy now that you are there?”

It could be, actually. They don’t call him for all petty things, though, at least not since Joe and Eddie gave a firm speech on how his ability to do things faster doesn’t mean they don’t get less exhausting. And that they should still be doing their jobs because that’s what they’ve volunteered to do and what they get paid for (Eddie’s and Joe’s arguments respectively). Barry still helps with a lot of things that don’t have anything to do with metahumans and the like, because he feels like he should help where he can. That also earned  _ him _ a stern discussion with Joe. They’re still trying to find their balance, but it’s getting better. The police does as much as they can, anyway.

“What do you mean?” He wants to know. An outsider’s perspective could be interesting here. Maybe it doesn’t seem as obvious when you are involved – and not just as one but both parties – and he feels like Snart would be a fitting judge for that.

“Well, they aren’t here yet, are they?” Snart remarks. He sits up in a swift motion, pulling a left up to his chest so he can rest his arm on the knee, and raises an eyebrow at him. “It’s about time.”

Barry frowns – an act that sends another wave of pain through his skull – in return. “They haven’t been alerted either.”

Snart just nods solemnly, like it’s confirming a suspicion he has had. Of course he figured something like this – he would have noticed if he triggered an alarm. That’s the kind of mistake that would  _ never _ happen to Captain Cold. Still, even as it’s already been apparent to him, he crooks an eyebrow at Barry. “How did you know about me then?”

There’s a small smirk in place, singing a melody of the self-pleasing assumption that must have crossed Snart’s mind – because of course he’d think Barry would ever have more than professional interest in him. He’s the kind of person who imagines that he’s the centre of everyone’s universe. And Barry would love to wipe away that smirk just like this, but he hesitates for a moment. There’s an advantage that they have on Snart, one that by some miracle he has not noticed yet, and even while Cold certainly isn’t the worst of Central City’s villains it’s something that would be terribly missed in an instant.

With another grimace – this time not only caused by pain but emotion, as well – he quietly admits, “We put a tracker in your gun.” A while ago already, actually, during the last instance where Snart had kind of helped them out (and, like always, it had fired back at them, though not as badly as ever before. Barry didn’t even have to pay for any food this time around, which was a first). He must have taken it apart and reassembled it plenty of times since then, and either he stayed completely oblivious about it – which, okay, wouldn’t be too far off, given that it is almost microscopic – or he just didn’t care. Barry thinks both could happen with him. “It sends us an alert when you enter any kind of bank or something.”

Snart gives a dry laugh. “Of course,” he says lowly, more to himself than to Barry. He taps against his gun a few times, looking down at it, as if it would admit its fault to him like this, but it doesn’t even start buzz. His gaze falls on Barry again, then. “That’s kinda rude, though. Who says I don’t ever want to just pick up money?”

“I have no doubt that that’s what you had in mind,” Barry answers. He looks around to prove his point, even if there’s not much bills inside this safe. Still, it’s a fact that Snart was  _ inside _ here when he arrived, so there’s not many excuses he could have. Even if classical  _ bank _ robberies aren’t Snart’s usually M.O. anymore; Barry remembers a rant he had given about how stealing goods is more disbursing than stealing sole money, though he has to admit he tuned out. Not because he didn’t care but he felt like at some point he  _ will _ needed plausible deniability.

The corner of Snart’s mouth crooks up even further, and there’s a hint of mischief in his eyes. “You’re very prejudiced, you and your team,” he answers with a playful scoff. “Can’t even turn over a new leaf with you.”

The tone says a lot about how it isn’t meant at all, but Barry finds himself hoping that there’s some truth to it, too. That maybe Snart does find some taste in living a better life like this, though he should know better. His entire life, it’s been aimed at doing the wrong thing; the way his father has raised him, the way he’s been forced to look out for his sister, his friendship with Mick. It’s all tied to how he’s led his life before - of course he isn’t throwing it over at random. But maybe there’s small steps, some that are slithering their way into Snart’s life without anyone noticing.

But someone  _ would _ notice, wouldn’t they? There’s people who know him, even if it’s just a few.

“Why do we even have to wait for  _ my _ friends?” Barry wants to know, the words coming out in a sharp tone that he didn’t fully plan to use – he knows it won’t help to pick a fight with Snart, that it won’t get him out of here and that it’ll only worsen his headache. But he’s annoyed by all this, too, and that’s what comes out first. “What about yours?”

For a moment, he thinks that Snart will ignore his question. But then he lets out a light scoff. “Mick,” he starts, and somehow it sounds like he’s stressing the last  _ letter _ , “doesn’t speak to me at the moment.”

“He—he doesn’t?” It breaks out of Barry before he can stop himself. He knows about the time of silence between the two of them – when their names were further apart than ever before after Mick’s accident, but nowadays they’re an item again. At least as far as he knows. Leonard Snart and Mick Rory – inseparable. “What happened?”

This time there’s a chuckle coming from Snart. Barry doesn’t know what to make of the fact that he can tell that it’s sarcastic. “What is this, couple’s therapy?” He asks, lifting an eyebrow. “Mick doesn’t agree—Well, according to him, I went a little too straight, if you must know.” He gives him a long look, as if to make clear that it refers to the deal they struck all that time ago.

It isn’t too much of a surprise, actually, that Mick would find himself at odds with that – though Snart didn’t stop the thieving altogether, there are less casualties than ever before. A brute like Mick would quickly get bored of it, he can imagine. It does seem weird, though, that Snart would rather break with him than the deal – having a record is nothing new for him, after all, and neither is breaking out of prison if need be. He  _ could _ arrange with going back to his life as it had been before. It doesn’t make much of a difference for him.

Barry doesn’t know what to say, frankly. A part of him hopes that they will end up working together once more, or at least pick up  _ talking _ again, because it’s obvious they aren’t just a team. They’re friends, maybe  _ best  _ friends if there’s room for such a title in either of their lives, and he knows pretty well what it’s like to lose someone important to you. But before he can find a way to say any of that, he’s interrupted when his stomach lets out an embarrassingly loud rumble. His first instinct is to duck his head, but that wouldn’t do anything anyway, given his position on the floor, so he just puts a hand on his stomach and closes his arm tighter around his face.

“Well, damn, Scarlet,” Snart remarks. “Had I known you’re hungry, I’d have brought along a little picnic.”

And suddenly, as if he’s needed someone else to put it into words, everything clicks together. His headache, his irritation, difficulties with concentrating and, well, the obvious rumble of his stomach. But Snart’s wrong; he isn’t hungry, he’s  _ famished _ .

“Oh, no,” he makes, sitting up rapidly - a movement he regrets immediately - to stare down at himself. When did he last eat? This morning, and it wasn’t even that much (by his standards) because he figured he’d have his lunch date with Iris soon anyways and in the meantime he would’ve grabbed some energy bars from STAR Labs, where Cisco stores the newly-improved-with-a-variety-of-flavours ones still. He hadn’t really expected to be imprisoned like this, but that’s such an amateur mistake - he hasn’t fainted from malnutrition since he first got his powers!

“I don’t like how you just said that.”

Oh, he absolutely  _ cannot _ faint like this, not while he’s stuck in a safe with  _ Leonard Snart _ of all people. Not just because it would be mortifying and he’d never hear the end of it but because  _ who knows what Snart’s gonna do _ ? Maybe that’s been part of his plan - waiting till Barry’s passed out, only to then open a secret door out. He could destroy all tracking devices that Barry wears so that his friends wouldn’t be able to find him! He could ice him right there while he’s unconscious and end it all. So many possibilities of what could happen even if Snart hadn’t known about his fast metabolism…

Barry jerks a little when he feels a hand on his upper arm, even though the touch is light as a feather. The same goes for Snart’s voice, which carefully wraps itself around a single sentence, “Barry, talk to me.”

There’s something into it that almost reminds him of  _ concern _ , and when he lifts his head he sees the same in the narrowed eyes of Snart. He realizes then that he’s been spiralling; not thinking clearly. Snart enjoys their whole cat-and-mouse game as much as he does, probably even more, seeing how he’s the one who orchestrated the whole thing in the first place. He wouldn’t just kill Barry like that and he doubts that Snart would wait for just about  _ anyone _ to show up when he’s got the power to disappear at will. No, they’re really stuck like this; it’s no scheme. 

Maybe he should warn him then, so it won’t be too much of a shock if Barry drops down like that eventually. Realizing all this doesn’t make it any less awkward, though.

“Um,” he starts, “I might faint.”

Amusement tucks at the corner of Snart’s mouth. “What, you’re claustrophobic?” It’s a more a joke than anything, because it would be pretty late for that fear to kick in if it were the truth, and yet Snart does the sensible thing and lets go off him, leaning back so there’s more space between the two of them again.

Barry shakes his head. He almost misses the contact because it gave him something to focus on, to keep him grounded. “My metabolism’s got superspeed, too.”

In reply, Snart raises an eyebrow. He taps against his lower lip. “Your powers aren’t working, Scarlet.”

“I had no idea, thanks,” Barry hisses, surprising them both. He throws his head back - how exactly hadn’t he realized the signs? “But they  _ did _ work just until I got in here.”

It’s fascinating, really, that even in his current condition he can watch as Snart pieces the puzzle together. It only takes a moment or two - Barry wonders if his ideas always hatch so  _ fast _ \- until Snart lets out a heavy sigh. “So, you’re at the end of your energy reserves.”

“I’m starving,” Barry clarifies. “Literally.”

Snart just glares at him, indicating that he figured as much. Then he raises his eyes to the ceiling and mutters, “Jesus,” almost as if he really means it. Is Snart religious? Barry doesn’t know.

Still, he feels the need to defend himself. “It’s not like I planned to get stuck in here with you, you know--”

“Let’s think back to the beginning of this whole affair and realize just  _ who’s _ at fault for that, shall we?” Snart interrupts. “I got least of the fault here, whether you like it or not.” He pauses for a moment before he gets up, only then looking back at Barry. “Lemme guess, you don’t have any food on you?”

This time Barry is the one who glares, though he supposes Snart just wants him to reflect on his own stupidity. Like he isn’t aware enough of it already.

He gets another sigh in return. “Good to know your powers have negative effects, too, actually. Keeps you human, doesn’t it?” He asks while stretching himself. Barry doesn’t even want to  _ consider _ getting up ever again. 

Still, he doesn’t need Snart to poke fun of him like that. “Fast metabolism can be pretty positive!” He argues.

Snart scoffs. “For what? Diets?” He turns around and looks at something out of Barry’s sight as he continues. “You’re already too skinny, Scarlet, you shouldn’t be thinking like this.”

“I wasn’t--!” Barry starts but cuts himself off. He knows that arguing with Snart won’t do anything. And he has to admit - at least to himself - that he doesn’t really  _ have _ any arguments. There really isn’t much else speaking of the profits of burning calories faster than you can think. There’s been times where he’s lost any feeling of joy concerning eating  _ altogether _ because he has to do it in these insane capacities. Though he resents Snart’s statement of how he’s  _ too _ skinny. He’s got muscles! Not as pronounced as others, sure, but it’s not like the lightest of sinds is gonna blow him over. Not exactly things he should discuss with Snart, though.

“I know you weren’t,” Snart appeases him. Barry watches as he picks up some gold bars and feels his stomach flip upside down - he should get used to Snart screwing him over, shouldn’t he? But no, there he goes, admitting a weakness to  _ Captain Cold _ and has to watch then how he loads his arms with prey and disappears-- except he doesn’t. To his surprise, Snart carefully sets them down somewhere close to the centre of the room, almost with structure.

“What are you doing?”

Snart doesn’t even look at him. “Getting you to a place with food,” he replies like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Before you ask: no, you just stay there and look pretty.”

He repeats the motion of picking up bars and setting them down, placing them strategically on top of each other until they look like a tower. Barry bites back another question about what the hell exactly he’s doing there, instead keeping his eyes on him as he puts on a foot on it carefully. He’d never have expected to see Captain Cold do some balance exercises on top of some gold bars, but here he is. 

Snart steps down easily again, nodding to himself about something, before he shrugs out of his parka. He hands it over to Barry without much preamble. “Watch this, will you?” He orders. “Maybe use it as a pillow, if you’re making your home down there.”

There’s nothing to argue with, actually. He won’t get up any time soon, he can tell, and it gets harder by the second to even sit up like this. Maybe lying down  _ is _ a good idea, saving energy and all. He has no idea about any of this, actually. It is pretty strange to accept Snart’s trademark parka like this, but he does roll it up to put under his head. It’s weird that he doesn’t feel unsafe at all lying down to Snart’s feet like this, given his initial fears - he supposes he’d been able to think more clearly before.

And he really can’t do anything but watch him. He knows it’s just because he’s sitting down here on the ground and practically never seen Snart out of his parka, but the way he stands there on top of this pile of gold, reaching up to the ceiling… There’s something about the whole picture that gives him an aura of competence and self-confidence that makes Barry realize why Snart has pretty much the whole city in his hands: he  _ knows _ what he’s doing. It’s one thing to hear and think about it but an entirely different one to  _ see _ it; he’s in his element - figuring out how to get out of a situation like this, using his skills to make it work. Once again, Barry finds himself wishing wouldn’t use the talents of his for  _ crimes _ .

“I thought this safe was impenetrable,” Barry voices, because it does feel awkward to just look up at Snart’s figure like that after some time. Even if there's a lot to watch there.

“Never said that,” Snart answers. He reaches into his pocket and pulls something out of it so swiftly and discreetly that Barry can’t make out what it is. “There’s always a way out; only problem is how much noise you wanna make.”

It sounds almost poetic, even though it’s nothing but a criminal paradigm. So much so that Barry needs a bit until he realizes what Snart is getting at. “Wait, you’re--”

“Personally, I am hoping that any of your friends has inherited some of your speed,” Snart cuts in smoothly, “- then I could give your team a stern talking to - but either option works, really.”

“Snart, what exactly are you planning to do there?” He wants to know, hoisting himself up a little so he’s sitting up straighter. It makes the current height difference more bearable, even if he’s head goes dizzy for a moment. 

For a second, it looks like Snart’s going to ignore him in favour of working on the ceiling. The object he had produced earlier turns out to be a pocket knife of some kind, or maybe a scalpel. Barry really wouldn’t be surprised if he carried one around. But as he jabs it into a crack between the top panels that Barry didn’t see until now, Snart elaborates, “I told you - I’m getting you somewhere with food. Would be the worst of it, sitting here with an unconscious Flash on my hands.”

“And you’re doing-- what now  _ exactly _ ?” Barry demands. He doesn’t know if it’s his current state playing tricks on his mind, but he really can’t make sense of it all. He really doubts that there’d be any kind of vents above such a safe - it’s proofed against metas, for heaven’s sake! It’s not like they’d go full on amateur there. Even if Snart were silently panicking about the idea of Barry going unconscious on him, he surely must be thinking about something like this, too.

Snart clicks his tongue just as the panel comes free. He drops it to the ground without much care as to how much noise it pronounces and that alone confuses Barry even more. “ _ If the mountain will not come to Muhammad, then Muhammad must go to the mountain _ ,” he recites easily. “Well, the comparison is a little off, admittedly. Rather, if help won’t come to us, we will  _ call _ them.”

Okay, now Barry’s brain really must be shutting down, because he still can’t make sense of all this. Snart’s laid open some wires by now and he’s sure that if there’s any damage coming to them then-- “Wait-- The police?”

At that, Snart stops in his motions to give him a look that speaks of something like disappointment. “And here I thought your fast thinking was a natural trait, not a meta one,” he tells him before looking back up to the wires again. He touches them lightly, searching for the right one, and Barry doesn’t know if they just look all the same form down here or if there’s really a triple finesse necessary for that action. “ _ Yes _ , Barry. The police. We don’t have any other chance here, do we?”

It’s a trick question, obviously, since they already spent however-much-time in here thinking about what to do and came away with nothing, but Barry still feels inclined to answer. He gives a huff first before adding, for good measure, “You’re  _ not _ calling the police,” because it still doesn’t make sense. Snart and police, that’s two things that don’t go together voluntarily.

“I’m not?” Snart asks, finally settling on one wire and bringing the knife up to it. Within a second he’s sliced through it. “Then tell me what this is,” he continues, opening his arms in a presenting gesture just as the alarm starts blaring.

Barry flinches at it - both surprise and the noise catching him off guard. Snart didn’t even leave him any option to argue about it, to question why he’s doing this - because one thing is inevitable, and that is the cops catching him here red-handed. He must know this, just like he’s always aware of any consequences that his actions bring, and yet he’s done it so easily, so willingly… And what for? To keep him from starving? 

Even if Barry fainted any moment now, it’s not like he’d be dying in the next few hours - his body is back to normal now, so the effects will develop at normal speed, too. Of course, it  _ would _ seem very troubling if anyone were to find Snart here while he’s passed out, he’s not wrong there, but if Caitlin were to get here first, then she’d easily figure it out. Figure out it’s not Snart’s fault. The police, however, they’ll immediately arrest him just for being here. 

Is that really how Snart wants to play hero for the first time in his life?

He doesn’t even know what to say. Any of the statements that come to his mind, every version of ‘what the hell?’ and ‘you know they’ll take you in, right?’ is something that Snart must already be aware of. So instead of replying anything, Barry just looks at him with his mouth hanging open. He’s tired of trying to figure out how Snart’s mind works. And maybe he’s just tired in general. Malnutrition and all.

“What, no ‘Now, Len, you’re being a tad dramatic here’?” Snart says, giving him a pout as he  _ hops _ down from the gold bars. The alarm is still singing happily, but he acts like there’s nothing out of the ordinary. “I must say, Mick would’ve already thrown himself into a rant on what a bastard I am at this point.”

The words fall from his mouth easily, his voice light in a way that Barry’s only been allowed to witness a few times - way to rarely, he thinks, judging by how cheerful they sound - and it distracts him a little. From what he can’t tell, but he only notices after a few beats that there’s a purpose to that as well. Snart’s trying to keep him awake, to pounder a response from him. Barry almost dares to think that Snart’s terrified of him growing unconscious, though he doesn’t know if it’s because of the idea of being alone inside this safe or if it’s because it’d look even worse if the police found them like that. 

“Of course, you’d never be as crude as him, would you?” Snart continues. In a swift motion, he drops to the ground, crossing his legs underneath himself. “No, you’re too much of a good guy for that.”

“Says the one who’s calling the cops on himself,” Barry counters. He presses out the words, closing his eyes as he speaks. It’s hard. 

“You should know that cops are hardly a problem for me to get out of,” Snart answers. At least he isn’t trying to deflect that he’s doing something good right now - saving him and all. As dramatic as it truly is.

“Still annoying.”

Snart lets out a little laugh. “Hah, yeah. Not as annoying as your teammates would be, though.” He runs a hand over his shaved head and looks back at Barry with narrowed eyes. “When I see them again, though, I’ll give them a lecture on emergency packages, just so you know.”

“I’ll warn them,” Barry promises. He can feel his eyelids grow heavier by the second.

“I’m actually hoping that West will be barging in here, to be honest,” Snart goes on. And he  _ really _ must be trying to keep him awake, given the urge behind the words. “I feel like he doesn’t hate me as much, don’t you agree?”

This time, Barry can’t help but laugh. Oh, Joe dislikes him a great deal. He’s never gotten behind the frenemy relationship that he and Snart have going on; to him, Snart is nothing but a clever thief, especially now that there’s little else that he does on his journeys. When there’s nothing else to speak of, no injuries or deaths, a criminal quickly becomes nothing but an annoyance to cops, as weird as it seems. 

“At least he’d be letting me clarify things, I’d hope.” Snart sounds thoughtfully, like he’s actually mulling it over. Maybe he really  _ is _ hoping for Joe to show up. And maybe he is right. With Joe being aware of everything between the two of them, he  _ would _ be more inclined to believe Snart wouldn’t aim for Barry’s death. Or he’d flip out even more. It’s hard to say.

“Are you and Mick really at odds?” Barry hears himself ask instead. He doesn’t know why this is what comes out, but it might be that he doesn’t have an answer for Snart either. Also, given the chatty mood he’s thrown himself into, he might just answer even the more personal questions that Barry asks.

He watches as Snart grimaces lightly. “When aren’t we, really?” He mutters. “Mick’s got a hard time keeping his head straight once he’s running lose. But he’ll come around. Always does.”

“That’s good,” Barry nods. He concentrates on Snart’s voice, drowning out the alarm as he lies back down onto the floor. He halfway expects to be pulled up again - if not by action, then with words - but Snart lets him be. “It’d be said if you were lonely.”

“Got you to keep me entertained, don’t I?” Snart answers. There’s a smirk in place again, but it’s not his trademark one. It’s not the one that speaks of teasing or a cruel joke that flew over Barry’s head. He’s not sure what it’s supposed to say, exactly, but it’s none of all that. In the next moment, Snart turns around his wrist, looking at a slim watch Barry hadn’t seen before. Everything in Snart’s outfit grows together into one black line, tight around his body, that it’s hard to make out any specifics. It’s quite bothersome, actually. “You should put your hood back up, Flash.”

“Don’t wanna move,” Barry declares. Again, he’s speaking before he thinks. His eyes have dropped close without him doing it, too. 

He hears Snart sigh, however, before there’s a rustling coming from him. Then a soft touch at the back of his neck, carefully lifting his head. “You gotta stay with me, Barry,” Snart mutters, close to his ear. “Come on, they won’t believe me when I say that ain’t my doing,” he continues as he pulls up Barry’s cowl. There’s a bit of tweaking here and there and then it fits perfectly, all the while Snart’s fingers moving over his skin in a barely noticeable way.

“Tell me more,” Barry prompts. Focusing on Snart’s voice, it does help. His touch did, too, sending a shiver down his face and then on to his throat. He’s still clear enough in the head that this is not something he could be asking for. “What about Lisa?”

“ _ Lisa _ ”, Snart repeats. There’s an incredulous sound to his voice, almost like he has to think about it. It’s weird, because Barry can’t imagine that Snart wouldn’t know just exactly where to find his sister at any given moment. “Had a spat. She’s in Metropolis now, staying with a friend.”

“Havin’ lots of those lately, don’t you?”

Snart blows a raspberry. Does he think Barry won’t remember this conversation? He’s acting… weirdly leisurely. “New methods lead to those.”

“Sorry,” Barry says. And he kind of means it, too. Not that he’s sorry about Snart changing his ways - he’s very happy with it. There’s more than enough blood on his hands already anyway, there’s no need for more, and it’s not like Snart’s had to throw over his entire life. But the fact that he’s fighting with the two people closest to him, with his family… It does twinge a little. Because if he doesn’t have them, then who’s left in Snart’s corner?

“Of course you are,” Snart sighs. There’s something to it, too, and Barry imagines to find another one of those smirks in place. The good ones, not the evil ones. He doesn’t even try to open his eyes, though, in fear of it vanishing as soon as he caught a glance of it. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, Scarlet.”

“I’m not--”

“Okay, the show’s on the road,” Snart cuts in. “You think you’re good to inform the pigs that I’m totally innocent here?”

“You  _ did _ break in--”

“Not that.”

Before Barry can answer anything else, there’s a heavy sight coming from the door. He forces an eye open, but it doesn’t hold for very long; the light must have grown stronger by now. He pulls his knees up as there’s a hit of pain going through his stomach. 

The door gets shoved open, and there’s someone yelling for them to get their hands up. Barry doesn’t move, can’t move, but he doesn’t hear anything from Snart either. Of course not. Snart’s calculated it - he’s sitting on the ground, facing the door. They won’t shoot at him. 

There’s a another beat and then--

“Snart?”

“Hello, detective,” Snart says in his cat-like way. “I suppose you don’t have anything to eat on you either, do you?”

“What--? I-- Shit, Ba-- Flash? Flash! Do you hear me?” It’s Joe, Barry recognizes now. In a second, he’s all over him, pressing his hands all over and shaking him. “What the hell did you do?” He demands, and this must be towards Snart.

“‘S okay,” Barry presses out. “I-- STAR.”

“He’s famished,” Snart gives an accord. “Didn’t eat. You should get him something fast, especially once he’s out of the power dampener’s range.” He rattles off the information so quickly that Barry wonders who of the two has superspeed. “In fact, you shouldn’t get him out of here  _ before _ he ate something. Surely Dr Snow would agree. Why aren’t you calling her already?”

“Flash, are you alright?” Joe asks him, almost as if Snart hadn’t spoken at all. Barry can almost picture him rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, I-- What he’s said.”

“Okay,” Joe says then. His hands vanish from Barry’s side at that, letting him sinks back down to the ground. 

Barry doesn’t mind. Instead, he buries his head in the parka’s fur. Snart can talk to Joe now, he doesn’t need him to keep himself entertained any more.

-

“I was thinking about something more sophisticated tonight,” Snart voices. In a totally calm voice like he couldn’t imagine anything else to do with his time than sending a blast of ice over his shoulder, aiming to hit the robots - equipped with superspeed and all - that they’re trying to take down. Or, rather, which are trying to take  _ them _ down. It’s vice versa, really. “If I have to see one more burger in my life, I might decay along with my cholesterol levels.”

“Can we talk about this later?” Barry prompts. He rushes over, catching Snart by the arm and phasing the two of them just in time for a laser to go through the parka rather than  _ into _ it, and thus Snart’s body.

This isn’t how their fights typically go, actually. They’re still antagonizing one another, but every once in a while something bigger blows up in front of them and they need to work together. Barry enjoys those days almost more than the others, especially since it makes the whole aftermath less awkward. Because - and now  _ that’s _ a game changer - Snart has taken it upon himself to make sure Barry stays nourished after their fights. That doesn’t mean that  _ he’s _ the one paying, of course, and he’s literally dragged him to Saints & Sinners for the first few times, but it’s become somewhat of a tradition. It’s a nice ending to the excitement of the days.

They’re almost pretending that it isn’t, even if Barry catches the little  _ nice _ smirk of Snart’s more often than he’s supposed to, probably.

It’s also somewhat bothersome because - just as he thought would happen - he isn’t hearing the end of it. Caitlin panics about him having energy bars on him, Cisco still giggles at the mere thought of him fainting like this, and Iris even took a picture of him wrapped in Snart’s parka when Joe chartered him off to STAR Labs. Her regularly bringing it up and the chiding he still hears from both Joe and Snart regularly - one more aggressive, one more teasing, you do the math - annoys him to no end. 

But he’d be lying if he claimed he hates the arrangement that it brings. Having dinner with Snart (and without any kind of deal-making)... it’s kind of nice. They joke and discuss things and-- well, it almost feels like they’re both enjoying themselves. 

It’s still nothing to be brought up in the middle of a fight against  _ someone else _ .

“Assuming that you’ll still be conscious then,” Snart answers, diving to the side. He even gives a little shrug, all in one motion that looks way too smooth. 

“Could you  _ please _ stop bringing that--”

“Interrupting your little marriage spat,” Cisco chimes in via the comms, “I don’t even know what Cold’s answering you, but  _ damn _ , can you get a room already? Your flirting’s--”

“ _ Cisco _ .”

“Right, Cait. Sorry,” Cisco says briskly. “Anyway, Barry, if you throw one lightning bolt at them in the right angle, you could start a chain reaction. Boom, they’d be down with one attack and you’re set for your date.”

“It’s not a--” Barry sighs. He’d know if it were a date, would he? No, Snart’s just making fun of him more often than not. Maybe he did grow a little concerned - wouldn’t want his arch-enemy starving to death, would he? - but that’s about it. They’re not even really friends. Though he’d like to think of them as such, actually. It’s hard to know with Snart, really. “What angle?”

He listens to Cisco’s rattle of facts and keeps an eye on Snart, who’s enjoying shooting at the robots a little to much considering the fact that they don’t stay down for long. They’ve got a good heating system, apparently. 

If he thinks about it, he  _ is _ actually a little hungry.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Please leave a comment!**  
>  You can come talk to me on [tumblr](http://joanthangroff.tumblr.com) or [twitter](http://twitter.com/Ll4MDUNBAR), if you want.
> 
> And if you participate in any current festivities, I hope you have lots of fun!


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